


All Of My Trail of Hearts.

by conjurethemockingjay



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Pete Wentz and His Humans
Genre: Character Study, Cheating, Closeted Character, Closeted Relationship, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conjurethemockingjay/pseuds/conjurethemockingjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was this one unspoken rule when it comes to making friends: Never fall in love with them.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>But, boy was it hard not to.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue [2009].

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** None of these are mine, except for the story plot. The title is taken from Black Card's song called “Dominos”. The names of the characters used in this story are based on real people that I do not know personally. The events in the story, though some may be inspired by actual events, are all purely fictional. No harm is intended, and no profit is being made.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** I have started writing this one during a writer's block that I've been suffering from while writing “On the Bad Side of 25”, which is another story of mine that I've posted on my Wattpad account. The only cure of every writer's block is to write even more, and somehow, I've come up with this. The story might have a very slow pace, considering the fact that both Pete and Patrick in this story are committed to other people, namely Meagan and Elisa respectively. I'm trying to let Patrick and Pete stay in character for this story (well, not just them actually, but everyone mentioned here), and I hope that you will be satisfied with the outcome.  
>  Cheers to Fall Out Boy.  
>  _\- Daphne_

_Pete couldn't sleep that night._

_He was clad in his Clandestine hoodie with its hood pulled up over his head as he sat by the window of the hotel room he was staying in, looking out at the New York city lights and the stars on the night sky and hugging his knees closer to his chest. It was probably three in the morning already, and Pete knew that he should get some sleep to get ready for their show later that day—in Madison Square Garden, of all places—but he just couldn't sleep at all._

_Something was bothering him. Or better yet,_ someone _._

 _Pete couldn't stop thinking about what Patrick had suddenly suggested a few weeks ago in the middle of a band meeting that they had. “_ What if we take a break for a while? _” Patrick had said, and Pete swore that he had heard a pin drop the second the singer had said it._

 _He could still vividly remember the astounded looks in Andy and Joe's faces, could still remember the way his heart skipped a beat and felt as if the world stopped turning for a moment as he stared blankly at Patrick. “_ You've got to be kidding me, _” he had told Patrick then with a chuckle, trying to lighten up the mood in the room even if his palms had started to produce a lot of sweat._

_To Pete's horror, Patrick had only stared back at him, and that was when Pete knew that he was actually serious about what he had suggested. Pete could remember how he had acted after that—he broke eye contact with Patrick, silently got up from his seat while ignoring the stares he got from his band mates, left the room and put his fist through a wall._

_They had to get a substitute bassist for their next show because of that incident, but he didn't care. He just never expected in his whole life that Patrick would say such a thing._

_The beeping of his phone broke his thoughts. With a sigh, Pete reached for it from his pocket and checked what was on the phone screen._ One message from Rickster _was flashing on his screen, and with a confused blink, a raised eyebrow and a_ 'Why the hell is he still up at this time of the night?' _uttered from his lips, he opened the text and read it._

 

            From: Rickster [2:48 AM]

            Message: Are you awake?

 

            To: Rickster [2:48 AM]

            Message: u do knw tht i rarely evr sleep

 

            From: Rickster [2:49 AM]

Message: Did anyone tell you that most of the rooms in this hotel are gonna be renovated in a few months?

 

            From: Rickster [2:49 AM]

Message: I mean, Andy told me, and he said that ours might be included. It's weird knowing that we're staying in rooms that will be changed soon.

 

            To: Rickster [2:50 AM]

            Message: is tht y u cnt sleep yet???

 

            From: Rickster [2:50 AM]

            Message: No, not at all. But can I come over to your room?

 

            To: Rickster [2:50 AM]

            Message: yeah ok sure

 

_As Pete wondered what Patrick might be thinking and what he might be planning to do, it wasn't long until a knock on his door slightly startled him, which wasn't really that surprising since Patrick was staying on the hotel room next door. Pete had gotten up right away from his spot by the window to open the door for his band mate._

_Patrick stood there on his hotel doorway wearing an old_ Saves the Day _t-shirt, a pair of worn-out pyjamas and a trucker cap that Pete remembered they bought together from Wal-Mart. Pete silently widened the opening of the door so that Patrick could step inside the room._

_“I'm sorry if I bothered you or anything,” Patrick said, looking apologetically at Pete as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. He then looked at what Pete was wearing—a hoodie that probably smelled bad already and the denim jeans that are ripped on the knees that he wore yesterday—and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the bassist._

_Pete just shrugged. “It wasn't like I was really sleeping,” he told him as he gestured at the clothes he was clad in._

_Patrick only nodded in understanding, and Pete felt a little sheepish standing there, and so he decided to invite Patrick to sit on the couch with him. Pete studied Patrick for a while; he tucked his legs beneath himself as he watched Patrick's fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt._

_“What brought you here, anyway?” Pete inquired._

_That question of his made Patrick lift his head up to look at him. His fingers stopped moving as he seemed to consider Pete's question for a second. “I just wanted to talk to you, I guess,” he replied in a quiet voice. “And because I couldn't sleep either.”_

_“So you just decided to check via text if I'm still awake so you could bother me?” Pete teased, eliciting a laugh to escape from Patrick's lips._

_“Something like that,” Patrick answered with a nonchalant shrug and a vague wave of his hand, making Pete grin a little. Patrick was also grinning at him, but it was then suddenly wiped away even before Pete could blink. Pete could call himself a drama queen, but just by seeing Patrick's serious face, it felt as if his heart had been ripped off his chest._

_“No, but, seriously, I just...” Patrick paused for a moment and sighed, and Pete knew that their conversation was going somewhere he didn't want it to go._

_Pete wanted to veer the conversation to a different direction, but it seemed too late to do anything._

_“I just really want to talk to you. You know, about the show and all,” Patrick went on._

_The band had already discussed and agreed on making their sold-out Madison Square Garden show as their last concert as_ Fall Out Boy _... for a while. They all decided that taking a break—a_ hiatus _, Pete had insisted calling it that—was the best decision for the band, if they still wanted to do this in the future._

_“There's nothing to talk about,” Pete said stubbornly, taking his eyes off of Patrick._

_“Of course, there is,” Patrick insisted with a click of his tongue, inching closer to Pete and frowned deeply when he saw Pete flinch minutely. “I know that you're the last person in the band who wanted the hiatus, but you do know that it's for the best, right?”_

_Pete chose not to answer. Patrick was looking down at his hands on his lap, sighing loudly. “Pete, you're married and you've got a kid, and Bronx and Ashlee should be your top priority—scratch that, they should be your_ only _priority right now. Joe and Andy told me that they are planning to form a band, and I can make my own stuff for a while that I've always wanted to do.”_

_“Does that mean you don't actually want to do the stuff you've been doing with us?” Pete asked, his tone softer than usual, looking hurt at what Patrick just said. “But I thought—”_

_“That's not what I meant, asshole,” Patrick spit out angrily, glaring at Pete. “All I'm saying is that we've all got other things that we want to do outside of the band. This—what we're doing, Pete, it's not going to be something that we'll be doing forever. At some point, there will come a time that the band's gonna break up—”_

_“You think I don't know that?” Pete inquired to him rhetorically, his voice raising, making Patrick snap his mouth shut._

_Pete's hands were clenched tightly into fists, and he felt a sudden urge to punch a wall, something, someone. This was something that Pete's doctor had been telling him over and over again, that he needed to control his emotions, that he needed to stop talking with his fists instead of his mouth. Pete had always said that his mouth was usually the reason why his fists were involved in certain conversations anyway, so he might as well teach himself on how to save his own ass._

_And Patrick... Patrick was starting to wear him out, and he didn't like it at all. Pete had been involved in bands way before Patrick was, and had more experience of having a band member's life than Patrick, yet the younger musician was acting as if he didn't understand a thing. He knew all too well that bands would never last forever—some of the bands that he used to listen to (and still listen to) and the bands that he used to be a part of broke up after years of performing and touring._

_He thought of_ Racetraitor _and_ Arma Angelus, _just two of the many bands that he used to be in, that used to be a huge part of his life. And now, it wouldn't be long until_ Fall Out Boy _would also be a part of the long list of ex-bands he was a part of. This was the band that he had invested all of his time and effort (and, hell, even education), the band brought him out of Chicago, the band that helped him get there to the top, the band that helped him become_ someone _._

_“Pete,” Patrick whispered, and Pete had finally looked at him with an intense gaze that made the singer flinch. “Come on, that's not what I meant, alright? I just—”_

_“But you_ promised _,” Pete cut him off. He was desperate already. All he wanted was to let Patrick_ understand _. “You promised that we—all four of us—are going to do this together, that whatever happens, we're still going to be_ Fall Out Boy _—”_

_“We're still going to be together, you idiot,” Patrick countered, groaning in frustration. “Look, I also don't want to do this, really, but based on what's been happening lately and on the people's reception to our new music, I think we've got to take a hiatus. And I'm not asking for an actual break up, Pete. We need to take a break from each other for a while.”_

_Pete stared at Patrick, his expression composed, and surprisingly, he didn't say anything back. He just felt so drained already, too tired for a verbal fight. So, instead of replying to his best friend, he stood up from the couch and buried his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie, heading back to his spot by the window, and watched the city lights blink back at him once again._

_“I didn't come here to have a fight, Pete,” he heard Patrick say. His footsteps were light as he approached the bassist, as if Patrick was afraid of making Pete flee away from him if he would stand closer to him. “I'm here because I want you to know that Andy, Joe and I are going to be your best friends, whatever happens. With the band or not.”_

_Pete exhaled, creating a small fog on the window pane. He stared at it for a moment, watching the condensation slowly fade until the glass was clear again. Maybe what other people were saying about him were all true. Maybe Pete really was afraid to become a has-been at the age of thirty, afraid of becoming a_ nobody _once again, afraid of being_ and _feeling alone._

_“I promise you that I'd be a better person, that I'll be more matured than before as a best friend, a son, a dad and a husband, that I'd do anything you want me to do,” Pete muttered quietly before facing Patrick. “if you just hold on.”_

_Patrick's eyes had softened at Pete's words, and with the dim-lighting of the room and with only the city lights and the moon illuminating his features, Pete was thinking that the singer looked younger than he actually was. It kind of reminded him of the first time he met Patrick, which felt like it only happened yesterday even if eight years had passed already._

_But, Pete's heart had dropped when he realized that Patrick was visibly hesitant, looking nervous  before he had answered in a whisper, “You know that I can't do that even if I want to. I'm doing this for the band, Pete. Because if we don't, we're gonna get sick of each other, and I don't want that to happen. We're going to do this for the future of this band, for all of us, and someday, we will come back. I promise you that.”_

_And with those four last words from Patrick, Pete held on to them for years, treated them like his lifeline, and kept them close to his heart._


	2. Read Me to Sleep [2013].

Pete sighed wearily as he clutched his duffle bag tightly, trying to patiently wait for Patrick to manage to open the door of the hotel room that they would be sharing.

He was tired from the show they just did a few hours ago, all the concert adrenaline being sucked out from his system already. What Pete really wanted was a quick shower to scrub off the grime and sweat that he got from the show before heading to bed, but he was just _so tired_ already that his eyelids could even barely stay up.

“This would be easier if this hotel thought of using swipe cards instead of keys,” Pete heard Patrick mumble quietly which was then followed by the clanking of the keys against the doorknob, and that comment made Pete chuckle a bit.

Pete was really glad that they could _actually_ afford hotel rooms now unlike before when they were still four nobodies with a big dream. He could still vividly remember their van days, where they used to take turns in driving all night and day just to get to their venues across the state and sleep in the cramped space at the back of the van, next to their bags and their instruments and their amplifiers since they couldn't afford renting a room to crash for the night.

Mentally whooping when he realized that Patrick had _finally_ unlocked the door, Pete muttered a “good night, guys” over his shoulder to both Andy and Joe, who still seemed to be stuck with their locked door. Their hotel room was just next to Pete and Patrick's.

Just like Pete, the rest of his band looked like they just wanted to go straight to bed, judging from Patrick's constant yawning, Joe's red-rimmed eyes and Andy's bitching about _this fucking door just wouldn't fucking open what the fuck is this are these even the right keys for this room this is bullshit I'm so fucking tired_ as he rattled the doorknob angrily when the key wouldn't turn.

Trying not to laugh at Andy and Joe's misfortune that night, Pete closed the door behind him quietly before dropping his bags heavily by the doorway, not even minding if it was blocking the pathway. He could deal with that tomorrow. Patrick, being the neater type of person among the two of them, had placed his belongings by the bedside table found in the hotel room, and it took five long seconds and a yawn for Pete to realize that, _whoa, there was only one bed._

“The management couldn't get any other room with two beds,” Patrick explained in a sleepy voice, almost as if he could read Pete's mind. “So, hey, you're stuck with me. I'm sorry for that,” Patrick added, not sounding sorry at all, as he placed his glasses and fedora on the bedside table, ruffling his hair messily before stretching out his limbs in his attempt to wake his body up.

“It's fine,” Pete assured him, offering him a smirk. “Better you than Joe or Andy, really. I mean, no offence meant, but I'd rather room with you than Joe who'd just fill up the room with smoke and tell me not to touch his stuff, or Andy who'd usually wake me up in the middle of the night and bitch about hogging the bed space and the covers.”

Pete knew he was babbling nonsense already and figured that Patrick's chuckle was kind of obligatory, but, seriously, he actually didn't mind sharing the same bed with Patrick.

They had been touring for a decade as a band (minus the hiatus), and for all those years, the four of them had tried sleeping next to each other already. Pete and Patrick used to room together most of the time, and even with their three-and-a-half-year hiatus, this wasn't really news to both of them. Patrick, of all people, should know that Pete was a cuddler (read: _boa constrictor_ ), which wasn't always a good thing because Pete would sometimes cling to Patrick in his sleep as if he was trying to cut off his best friend's oxygen supply.

Pete always assured Patrick that he had never meant to hurt him during all those times that he had almost choked the singer to death unconsciously, and Patrick, as expected, had always forgiven him. For both of them, it was like a routine of some sort, kind of like their own way of balancing their lives as _Pete and Patrick_.

Patrick quietly saying, “I'm gonna go shower,” was all it took for Pete to be snapped back to the present. Pete only nodded as a response and watched his best friend push the bathroom door open, flick the lights on, and then disappear behind the door.

With a soft sigh, Pete decided to peel off his sweat-dampened shirt, mindlessly letting it fall to the floor, and kicking off his sneakers before plopping on the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a while with one arm tucked beneath his head, thinking about Meagan and Bronx back home, mentally counting the remaining dates of their current tour before he could see them again, and wondering if Patrick was thinking of the same thing with Elisa.

Slowly, his eyes had fluttered close and he had drifted off to sleep.

 

*~*

 

Sometime later, Patrick woke Pete up with a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

“Come on, dude,” Patrick said, still nudging Pete until the latter had finally sat up on the bed with a tired groan. Pete batted Patrick's hand away, obviously annoyed, and Patrick had to suppress a smile. “You gotta shower, man. You stink.”

“Shut up,” Pete snapped. After trying to clear his vision by rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands, he glared at Patrick, who Pete then belatedly noticed was already in his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and plaid pyjamas. His strawberry blond hair was damp from the shower he just took, and he smelled like soap and mint toothpaste.

Patrick let out a chuckle as he put his glasses back on. “Just kidding, Pete.” Patrick was smiling at him, showing off his teeth, but Pete figured that Patrick was probably telling him white lies for his sake. He was pretty sure that he _reeked_ already.

Patrick then handed him a clean towel, which Pete quickly took, before saying, “Now, get off your ass and shower. I'll wait here.”

And Pete did.

 

*~*

 

By the time Pete had finished his shower, Patrick was already sitting up on their shared bed, his back pressed against the headboard with a pillow in between for cushion as he read a hardbound book. The lamp sitting on the bedside table nearest to him was turned on.

Patrick didn't seem to notice Pete's presence until the bathroom door had clicked close behind Pete.

“Oh. Hey, Pete.”

“And here I am thinking that you never do anything else in your free time except write music and mess around with GarageBand,” Pete teased Patrick as he neared the bed, drying his hair with the towel that he used.

Pete was already wearing his favorite pair of boxers, his shower-damp chest still bare. Walking around half-naked was something that Pete didn't really mind since he had always been completely comfortable with showing off some skin anyway. Between them, Patrick was the guy who usually gets self-conscious about his body for some reason, which Pete never really understood much, since all he knew was that Patrick was just _fucking perfect_.

“Musicians read too, you know,” Patrick responded coolly, giving Pete a mock-glare. “And go grab a freaking t-shirt, dude. Isn't the a/c even bothering you?”

“Not one bit,” Pete grinned widely, sort of feeling proud of himself for some reason, but he did what he was asked to do anyway, heading over to his luggage to pull a random shirt and then putting it on. “By the way, what're you even reading?”

With a huge smile on his face, in a “I'm _so glad_ you asked” kind of way, Patrick then held up the book that he was reading so that Pete could see the cover, and laughed loudly when Pete's eyes had widened like saucers.

“Holy shit, is that _my_ fucking book?” Pete exclaimed, jumping into the bed to grab the hardbound book from Patrick's hands.

The words _GRAY by Pete Wentz_ were embossed on the cover of the book, with a gray-scaled photograph of Chicago which served as the background. He had been working on that book for years already, and had only been officially released a few months ago.

 _Gray_ , though it was classified as work of fiction, was actually loosely based on his life and his toxic on-and-off relationship with Jeanae White who drove him absolutely insane for all those years that they had been dating—but Pete never really admitted that the book was inspired on his life's real events and his ex-girlfriend, no matter how obvious it may seem to other people, especially to those fans of theirs who had kept a close eye on him.

“I haven't actually finished reading it yet,” Patrick told Pete, smiling at him. “But it's great, Pete. Kind of sounded like the lyrics you've been giving me.”

“Some of our lyrics are in there, yeah,” Pete shrugged nonchalantly in response as he gave the book back to Patrick. Of course, Pete expected Patrick to notice the original lyrics of their songs being referenced on the book. Pete was the band's lyricist after all, and he and Patrick had usually worked together during their songwriting sessions.

“And some were taken from your old blog posts, I think.”

Pete shrugged again. Of course Patrick would notice stuff like those. Aside from Pete's mom, Patrick was the only other person who Pete knew had willingly read his blog posts in LiveJournal and their old _Fall Out Boy Rock_ website.

“Well, you can't control _genius_ ,” Pete answered haughtily, wiggling his eyebrows at his best friend.

Patrick didn't say anything. He just rolled his eyes playfully and shook his head in amusement as he folded the edge of the last page where he had stopped reading and closed the book quietly.

When Patrick had taken off his eyeglasses and placed the book on the bedside table, Pete then stopped him abruptly, which earned him a questioning look from his best friend. “Read it to me, please?” Pete asked him, hoping that his puppy eyes would do the trick.

“Fine, but only until you fall asleep,” Patrick finally said with a sleepy yawn after a moment's hesitation, and Pete had to stop himself from doing a victory dance in the middle of their bed when Patrick had put his glasses back on once again and opened the book on the page that he had dog-eared earlier.

Pete quickly rolled to his own spot on the bed so that Patrick could start reading the words— _his_ words—from the book out loud to him. He could probably recite almost everything in his book **—** _word for word_ , given time—since Pete had already read through the pages for so many times while he was working on it, during the editing, and even spent time re-reading it on the same day it was released. Letting Patrick read _Gray_ out loud to him was a pretty narcissistic thing to do, Pete knew that, but listening to Patrick read his words gave him the same effect as when Patrick would turn his lyrics into music. To him, his best friend's voice was very comforting.

If Pete was allowed to release an audio book for _Gray_ , he would surely recommend Patrick to his publisher. There was absolutely no one else who'd be fitting for the job. Not to mention that Patrick had always been Pete's voice throughout all those years that they had spent as a band, turning _his_ lyrics into songs and singing _his_ words to the world.

For some reason that only Pete could explain (but Pete couldn't also explain at the same time; _it was complicated,_ he had admitted to himself before), Patrick was actually the only guy in the world that Pete would fully trust his 4 AM thoughts to. And these 4 AM thoughts had somehow been a part of their chart-toppers, much to Pete's surprise.

It was past one in the morning already, and they were supposed to get some sleep to get ready for their hours of land travel on the next day, but there they were, both of them sprawled on the king-sized bed, their limbs loose and their eyes sleepy and droopy.

Pete curled his body with Patrick's, pressing his chest on Patrick's hip, and then allowed his leg to rest on top of his best friend's own before wrapping an arm over Patrick's stomach. This was something that Pete knew Patrick didn't really mind much since he was used to Pete touching him all the time anyway, onstage and offstage. It was familiar. It felt like home.

A smile had slowly carved on Pete's lips as he closed his eyes and listened intently to Patrick who was starting to read his own words back to him. Patrick's voice was quiet, perhaps only above a whisper, but was just enough for Pete to hear the sentences clearly.

Pete was the kind of person who never really got enough sleep since his insomnia was always kicking in during the most inconvenient of times and bothering him every night, but with Patrick's clean scent wafting his nose and Patrick's warmth flushed with his and Patrick's body pressed up against him and Patrick's voice filling the silence of the room, Pete felt calm and contented.

Sleeping next to Patrick had always helped Pete go to sleep with ease.

During the hiatus, seeing his three other band mates in public felt awkward and strange, especially Patrick. Pete wasn't sure if he liked this new version of his best friend, skinnier and more angular and more confident compared to the Patrick he knew before the hiatus—the shy guy with mutton chops who was a little round in the middle and who liked staying back in their photoshoots.

They might have texted and called each other up a lot; they might have stayed in touch and hung out whenever they could during the entirety of the break, but it was just... _different_. It wasn't _Fall Out Boy_. For three and a half years, it was just Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe—separately (well, except for Joe and Andy; the two worked together for _The Damned Things_ ).

Little did they know that they would come off hiatus with a new single and a new album and a new tour announcement up their sleeve. They really had been busy for months before the comeback after all, and all their hard work was paid off when they realized that people—a _whole lot_ of them—were interested to listen to the new music that they've got.

When they had their soundcheck for their first show back from the hiatus which was held in Chicago, it was a little awkward and disoriented, since they didn't know what the fans were expecting from this new version of them. But, when they got back onstage for the actual show and seen the faces of their fans, some familiar and some utterly new, all clearly excited to hear them perform as a band again, they felt alive. It felt as if the hiatus never happened at all.

Perhaps it was muscle memory, as what Andy had mentioned to them before, but Pete knew it was way more than that. He figured that probably it was because they were actually meant to come back and bring their own music to the world for the second time around.

Honestly, when Patrick had asked the band for a hiatus back on 2009 so that they could work on the stuff that they wanted to do aside from the band, Pete never expected that he would get to be this close with Patrick again. He never expected that he would be playing with his three best friends again, since he thought that _Fall Out Boy_ was done for good, but boy was he wrong.

He missed _this_. He missed _them_.

Pete fell asleep four pages later, as he watched Patrick's chest rise and fall on every breath he took.


	3. Bus Call [2013].

On the next day, Pete woke up in an empty bed.

It was really strange, knowing that he had woken up later than Patrick. Usually, among the four of them in the band, it was Patrick who would wake up the latest since he would stay up all night working on whatever music he had on GarageBand. And it was weird as well, since Pete was a light sleeper—the slightest of sounds would wake him up most often—but he hadn't woken up when Patrick got up.

When he moved his palm to Patrick's side of the bed, it was still pretty warm, which was a sign that his best friend had only gotten up not too long ago. Patrick was probably in the bathroom or something, he figured. Pete groaned, cursing the sunlight beaming at him through the curtains of the windows and then rolling onto his stomach to bury his face on the pillows.

“Dude.” There was a hand tugging on his leg, and Pete tried to kick whoever was trying to wake him up, who was Patrick, most likely. Pete groaned once more, the sound muffled against the pillows, and then he heard Patrick sigh wearily. Pete could relate; he was still tired from the show last night. “Hey, sleepyhead, time to wake up. We've got bus call in ten minutes.”

Pete didn't move from his position, and tried to block Patrick's voice out.

Patrick sighed again. Pete could feel Patrick move around the hotel room for some time, probably changing his clothes or grabbing his stuff and packing up or whatever, before he had decided to go back in annoying Pete by poking his shoulder incessantly.

“Come on, Pete, get up,” Patrick said. “We better get going or else we're gonna get stuck here in Atlanta and I don't think I've got relatives around here. We're _so_ gonna get screwed.”

When Pete still didn't move an inch, Patrick went on talking (Pete could almost _hear_ him rolling his eyes and probably thinking, _I should be younger than him but why am I the one baby-sitting?_ ), “Joe and Andy are in the bus already. We can't afford another round of Bob's _Always Avoid Getting Late Or You'll Suffer Horribly From the Consequences_ rant this early in the morning.”

Half-heartedly, Pete obliged, rolling onto his back and wiping the sleep off his eyes with a tired whine. Just like what Patrick said, Pete didn't want to hear Bob's rant _again_ that he and his band had been hearing whenever they would get late for anything for as long as he could remember. Joe could actually recite their manager's rant, _word for word_.

Clothes were suddenly thrown at his chest as soon as he had sat up on the bed, which caught Pete completely off guard (but helped him to actually wake up at least, which was the positive side of that), and he tried to glare at Patrick. “What the fuck, man?” Pete snapped in a mixture of surprise and irritation. Patrick was only grinning at him, trying to look innocent.

Contrary to common belief, Patrick Stump was absolutely far from being “innocent.”

“Good morning, princess!” Patrick greeted him cheerily with a huge smile plastered on his face. Everything  in the room seemed to be too bright since Patrick had decided to open the windows, in Pete's utter disappointment, and it was giving Pete a fucking headache. He even had to stop himself from flipping Patrick off after the latter had called him “ _princess_ ”.

Patrick was ready to go, dressed in a navy blue Mad Decent shirt underneath his red cardigan, a pair of skinny jeans, Converse shoes and his fedora sitting on top of his mop of strawberry blond hair. Patrick looked so much like a college student that those people who didn't know them wouldn't even guess that he was actually _twenty-nine years old_ and was _married_.

As Pete sighed and pressed his thumb and index finger against his temple to somehow soothe the early morning headache he was suffering, Patrick went on talking, checking the watch on his wrist briefly. “Put those clothes on and go brush your teeth. We've got, like, six minutes left before the bus leaves us.”

“I need coffee,” was all Pete said.

Pete had no idea how Patrick did it, perhaps the singer had conjured it out from thin air or something ( _what the fuck?_ ), but there was suddenly a cup of Starbucks on his hands with his name hastily written on the side, still warm, and Pete could only stare blankly at Patrick whose back was turned to him since the strawberry blond-haired man had decided to busy himself with his luggage.

Not finding his voice to thank the vocalist, Pete sipped from the coffee cup, letting the hot liquid flow down his dry throat.

“Joe bought that, by the way,” Patrick explained to Pete as he zipped his bag close, and it was starting to freak Pete out since it seemed as Patrick could actually hear his thoughts— _holy shit_. “He said he went out for a coffee run for himself and Andy, and he thought of getting coffee for us too.”

“Oh,” Pete replied, blinking twice, thrice, before staring down at the cup on his hands.

“You okay, Pete?” Patrick asked curiously, and it was then Pete belatedly realized that Patrick was looking at him with raised eyebrows and that he still had to change his clothes before bus call.

Nodding and smiling at his best friend (and trying to hide the fact that his brain could process thing in a snail's pace at this time of the day), Pete got off from the bed and placed the Starbucks cup on top of the bedside table. “Yeah, I'm okay. I'll just go brush my teeth,” he told the singer, and then Pete disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Patrick gaping at him questioningly.

 

*~*

 

Pete was bored as hell.

They were already on their way to Lake Buena Vista in Florida, which was the next venue of their tour, and Pete had nothing else to do.

He was tired of flicking through his pictures of Meagan and Bronx on his camera roll, tired of playing Candy Crush on his phone, tired of browsing through his Twitter @ mentions (though he was really glad to know that their new album's reception was better than _Folie a Deux_ 's, and that their fans seemed to be very much excited for their tour), tired of looking out at the scenery that they were passing by through the heavily-tinted windows of the bus, and tired of listening to the wheels beneath them, moving in a steady pace against the pavement.

The band was sharing one tour bus this time, the rest of their crew on the other. It was kind of weird though because the four of them would rarely share one bus (but Pete wasn't complaining; he loved hanging out with the rest of the band). Usually, Joe and Andy would ride on the other bus to play video games together, and sometimes Patrick and Joe would separate from Pete and Andy whenever they wanted to compose new music together in silence after Patrick had browsed through the lyrics Pete had handed to him.

Pete was actually expecting all four of them to do something fun together, perhaps talk about what they had been up to lately, just like the old days, but the other three seemed to be busy doing... _whatever_ they were doing. Maybe what Patrick said during an interview before was true. Maybe they really had matured during the band's hiatus.

(Well, _except_ Pete, apparently. But to his defense, Pete was certain that he had matured a lot as well, especially after he and Ashlee had Bronx.)

They were all seated around on the leather couches that were available in their so-called bus lounge. Pete watched his other band mates do their own thing, completely oblivious to Pete's stare. Andy was eating a salad with his bare hands from a Styrofoam container while listening to music with his headphones on; Joe was typing away something on his MacBook; and Patrick was fiddling with his phone, probably doing another round of Q&A with their fans on Twitter. It was just too quiet for Pete's liking.

Only one person could cure Pete's boredom. _Patrick Stump_ , of course.

Patrick was sitting just a few feet away from him, still busy with his phone, and since Pete didn't feel like moving too much, he nudged the toe of his shoe to Patrick's leg. Patrick didn't even look at him to acknowledge what he did. _He thinks I'm just bored,_ Pete thought with a sad sigh, frowning slightly. Patrick's go-to response whenever he would notice that the latter was bored off his head was to just ignore him, and so Pete nudged Patrick's leg again.

“Paaaaatrick,” Pete whined, obviously begging Patrick to at least give him some of his attention.

Andy was watching the pair with amusement, grinning at Pete as he chewed on the slice of cucumber he was eating. Pete quickly flung one of the throw pillows on the couch at him, annoyed that his band mate was finding his boredom entertaining, and then flipped Andy off for good measure with a scowl when he had managed to dodge the attack.

“Stop throwing stuff around, Wentz,” Joe piped up suddenly, his eyes still glued on the screen of his MacBook. “Before you know it, you've trashed the whole bus.”

“Or probably you've made another hole on the side of the bus, just like what he did to our dressing room before,” Andy teased, taking off the headphone from his ears.

Pete rolled his eyes, thinking grimly _my band mates should stop bringing back whatever happened in the past_ and then completely ignored Joe and Andy's mocking laughter before going back on trying to grab Patrick's attention by nudging his shoe on Patrick's leg again. “Patrick, I'm _bored_ ,” he whined, and Pete knew all too well that he was acting like a five-year-old.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Patrick replied, feigning his interest to the conversation. At least Pete finally got a response from his best friend even if he was still too focused on whatever he was doing with his phone, which made Pete a tad bit happier, but it just wasn't enough for him.

“Sing me something,” Pete requested right away, earning him a chuckle from both Andy and Joe. He shot a piercing glare at their directions, still scowling. It wasn't even funny anymore. He was just downright _bored_. “Way to cure my boredom, guys. I'm _impressed_ ,” he deadpanned at the two.

Patrick was still ignoring all of them, much to Pete's disappointment.

“Nothing more delighting than watching you and Patrick act like an old married couple to pass the time,” Andy retorted with a snort. Joe nodded in agreement, tearing his eyes away from the MacBook screen and then looking over at Andy. They bumped their fists together, sharing a wink as if they knew something—a _secret_ , perhaps?

Pete didn't understand what the action was for.

So, he decided to ignore Andy and Joe again, and began searching for his iPod and earphones from the many zippers of his backpack instead. After finally grabbing hold of them, finding them deep in his bag, Pete then moved closer to Patrick—still ignoring the amused looks from their other band mates—and sat on the empty space next to his best friend. He bumped his shoulder with Patrick's.

The singer turned his head to Pete immediately, his eyebrows raised as if asking “What do you want now?”. As his response to Patrick's unspoken question, Pete then held up his iPod and earphones up with a grin, hoping that Patrick understood what he wanted them to do.

Sighing in defeat, Patrick replied, “Fine. Gimme that,” before he had closed his Twitter app and set his phone aside, taking one earbud from Pete and then plugging it to his left ear. As he pressed the _'Play'_ button, Pete _tried_ to feel sorry for the fans who wanted to get replies from Patrick (Pete really wasn't sorry at all though; call him selfish, but he just _loved_ it whenever Patrick's not ignoring him), especially after Patrick had to stop his Twitter Q &A for a while just to satisfy Pete's needs (see also: _incessant childish demands_ ).

Pete just really needed his precious _Patrick time_.

It wasn't long until Patrick had raised his eyebrows at Pete again when he realized that _Explode_ —the first song in his own _Soul Punk_ album—was playing. “You're not shitting with me, are you?” he asked Pete in an incredulous tone, his eyes wide.

“Nope,” was all Pete said before he had tucked his head comfortably on Patrick's shoulder, smiling inwardly as he listened to Patrick's voice through the earbud plugged on his right ear. Patrick was probably rolling his eyes at Pete's action, but Pete didn't really care. All he cared about at that moment was the smell of Patrick's cologne and aftershave and the sound of Patrick mumbling the lyrics of the song under his breath as he quietly sang along.

Andy and Joe watched them for a while, and then they shared a knowing look—and that look was driving Pete nuts, because _what did it even mean?_ —before they had left them alone and continued doing their own thing. _Finally,_ Pete exhaled the breath that he hadn't noticed that he was holding, visibly relaxing as he leaned closer to Patrick.

Patrick began gently drumming his fingers against Pete's knee along with the beat of the song, and by the fifth track, Pete had fallen asleep.


	4. Patrick the Danseur [2009].

_Everyone decided to stop by the nearest 7-Eleven first to get something to eat and drink before they get back on the bus and hit the road again. Some of their crew had gotten off the tour bus with the band to purchase food and drinks as well. Their bus driver told them that they'd be going in half an hour after the gas tank had been filled, which meant that they still had a lot of time to walk around a bit and stretch their legs._

_Luckily, when they entered the store, it was empty except for the 7-Eleven cashier, who didn't seem to recognize that there was a world-renowned, multi-platinum, Grammy-nominated band who had won multiple awards over the years standing there inside the store he was working in and breathing the same air as he was._

_Andy and Joe were roaming around the store, looking for something they could bring along with them on the bus to be eaten later. Pete and Patrick decided to sit together on one of the tables in the store after Patrick bought ready-to-eat Ramen noodles and Cheetos for himself, plus a huge pack of M &Ms and Pop Tarts for Pete after the latter had begged him to._

_“_ Your arteries are seriously gonna get clogged, I'm telling you, _” Patrick had warned Pete as he placed the food they chose to buy on the counter. Pete wasn't listening though._

_Back on the table, Pete was sipping happily from his large cup of Slurpee, which was actually the only thing he bought from the store. Patrick was sitting across him with his headphones on, busy humming a song that Pete didn't recognize as he messed around in GarageBand._

_Typical Patrick Stump, always busy making music. But Pete was certainly not complaining._

_Pete was really sure that Patrick would go places in the music industry even if their band would be no more. Patrick was obviously the most talented in the band—well, he could say that they were all talented in different ways, sure, but musically, Patrick was the winner by forfeit. He could play more instruments than Pete's fingers could count, had that beautiful soul voice, and could even write and compose songs all by himself._

_(Not to mention that the strawberry blond-head was also an amazing actor, hands down.)_

_Patrick was definitely a one-man band (Pete was even thinking that his best friend didn't actually need the band anymore because of his superb talents), and without the man who was sitting right in front of him, Pete could just imagine himself still stuck in his parent's garage back in Chicago. If it wasn't for Patrick, God knows where their band would be at that moment._

_“Hey, 'Trick,” Pete snapped his fingers in front of Patrick's face, catching his attention._

_The singer looked slightly irritated—he didn't like being distracted whenever he was making music, Pete had forgotten—but he had taken his headphones off, which the bassist took as a good thing, at least. “What is it now?” Patrick asked with a huff._

_“If the band's gonna break up—not that I'm saying that I've got plans for us to actually break up because, you know, we're all enjoying this kind of life and I don't want us to go to different directions just yet—but I was wondering,” Pete paused, looking down at his Slurpee and watching the small water droplets on the sides of the cup flow down slowly and pool around its base._

_“You were wondering... what?” Patrick pressed on, and Pete lifted his gaze back to his best friend. Patrick was staring back at him expectantly and had an eyebrow raised curiously, the one that had a scar which came from a bad sledding accident when he was only three years old._

_“What do you think you'd be doing after_ Fall Out Boy _?”_

_A sigh escaped from Patrick's lips, and Pete watched as Patrick slumped back on the chair he was sitting on and scratched his chin lightly. “I don't really know, man,” Patrick replied honestly. “I mean, I haven't really thought much about it, but for sure, I'd do something that's still musically-inclined or whatever.”_

_Pete nodded his head and sipped again from his Slurpee cup. He had expected that answer._

_“But, come on, you and I both know that there's a lot of possibilities out there,” Patrick went on, chuckling to himself softly. He waved his hand randomly, as if it was enough for Pete to understand what he was talking about. “For all you know, you might just turn your TV on one day and find out that I've become... a ballerina or whatever.”_

_Now_ that _was an answer Pete hadn't expected at all, nor did he ever expect in his entire life._

_He nearly choked on his drink when he had brayed out a laugh, hitting the table a couple of times in amusement with his palm, and he swore that his stomach had started aching as he and Patrick doubled over in laughter. “That's something I'm willing to pay for just to see you wear a pink tutu,” Pete announced and gave Patrick an attempt of what he would call a wink._

_“Dude, male ballerinas don't even wear tutus, what the fuck. Get your facts straight, you asshole.” Patrick stuck his tongue out at the bassist mockingly, looking quite smug after finding out that he knew something that Pete didn't. “Haven't you seen what male ballerinas usually wear? What they use are, like, tights and leotards or whatever they're called.”_

_“What do you even call male ballerinas, anyway?” Pete asked Patrick, and even before Patrick could answer the question, Pete shook his head and lifted a hand in front of his best friend's face to stop him from saying anything. He then fished for his phone from his pocket. “You know what, I'm just gonna tweet this.”_

_Pete heard Patrick mumble, “You're such an ass, Wentz,” before the latter had put his head phones back on and gone back to whatever he was doing in GarageBand with a shake of his head. Patrick still had a smile on his mouth though, so it was probably okay to him for Pete to ask their fans about what they were just talking about._

 

 **Pete Wentz** _@petewentz_

Patrick and I are wondering what a male version of a ballerina is called? Or is it just a ballerina? Cos that sounds weird.

 

_It wasn't until later that day—when they were already on the bus, headed for their next venue, with Pete carrying his share of Mac 'n Cheese that Patrick had prepared for the whole band—did Pete finally check the tweet replies from their fans._

_Amongst the numerous '_ I love you Pete!!!' _and_ 'how r u & patrick?!' _and_ 'so much love from ur fans!' _tweets that were flooding his Twitter @ mentions, there were a couple of people who had_ actually _answered his question seriously—thank God._

_“Pete, you better eat that up,” Patrick said, pointing at the bowl that Pete was holding with one hand while he had his phone on the other. “or that'll go cold, and I'm not gonna make another one again for you even if you complain all night.”_

_“I won't complain, I promise,” he told his best friend truthfully. Patrick stared at him for a moment, clearly a bit shocked that Pete wasn't throwing a tantrum and acting like a diva, before nodding and walking away to leave him alone._

_The bassist tried his best not to grin too much, especially because, if Andy would see him, the drummer might wack him in the head and call him batshit crazy and most likely confiscate his phone for not focusing on solely eating (Andy was more matured than Pete even if he was a year younger than him, Pete could admit that), as he typed using only one hand._

 

**Pete Wentz** _@petewentz_

ok patrick thats what you want to be after fob. we finally figured out the name. RT @b_boi a danseur is a male ballerina...

 

_During supper, in the middle of their conversation with the rest of the band and some of their crew members, Pete had suddenly stood up from his seat and proudly announced that Patrick was going to be a danseur if their band was going to break up someday._

_He explained to all of them carefully what a “danseur” was, telling them everything that he had learned on Twitter, ignoring the pointed glare Patrick was shooting to his direction. The crew and the other half of the band, naturally, laughed and teased Patrick all night._

_Pete wasn't feeling sorry at all even when Patrick had ordered him in a strained voice to sit back down, flipped him off and threatened that he would quit the band, ditch all of them, and hitch-hike all the way back to Glenview even if they still had a tour to finish. Pete didn't believe him, though. He was certain that Patrick wouldn't leave the band just because of such a shallow reason anyway, and seeing the singer's cheeks and the tips of his ears turn dark pink in embarrassment (and anger, for sure) was really worth it._

_Just like what he had been telling their fans on his blog posts for years, Pete had always enjoyed making Patrick blush_.


	5. Pre-soundcheck Woes [2013].

All four of them were hanging out in the dressing room located at the backstage of the arena when suddenly one of their crew members had knocked on the door to remind them that they would be doing soundcheck in fifteen minutes.

Knowing that they still had ample time before the soundcheck, Pete continued asking the other three about what they should change on their setlist for the show. They had a setlist done beforehand, which was something that Patrick had already agreed to (they always needed his stamp of approval since they would be fucked for sure if Patrick wouldn't get his voice right for the songs) and was the one that they would usually follow, but they liked mixing things up a little.

Patrick's phone suddenly rang in the middle of their conversation.

He was supposed to be on vocal rest for the show that night (they had been _patiently_ trying to understand what Patrick was telling them with the use of non-verbal gestures; they all knew that Patrick could be a little bit short-tempered at times), but based on Patrick's facial expression when he had checked the name of whoever was calling him, Pete guessed that it might be someone important. Perhaps it was his wife.

Patrick made a gesture with his hands saying that he wanted to excuse himself to take the call, and the three of them just told him to go on. Patrick smiled his thanks to the rest of the band before slipping out of the door quietly, phone pressed against his ear.

“You know, sometimes, I still can't believe that you guys are married,” Andy mused out loud after a while, starting to drum a beat against his leg with his sticks.

“Well, _not me_ , apparently,” Pete chuckled lightly. He was trying to make his failed marriage sound like it wasn't a big deal to him anymore, even if he knew very well that the rest of the band was aware that he was depressed and got addicted with his prescription drugs _again_ during the hiatus because of it. It was pretty much all over the news way back on 2011.

Sure, Pete had gotten over his divorce with Ashlee Simpson especially because he got Meagan now, and Ashlee and her new boyfriend seemed to be going stronger together, but it was still a pretty touchy subject for him. It took a really long time—along with a lot of pills and restless nights and a couple of girls he hooked up with to momentarily numb the loneliness—for Pete to process that he wasn't married anymore to the one he thought he'd grow old with.

Andy seemed startled at Pete's choice of answer which made Joe shoot Pete a wary look, as if he was expecting Pete to break down and yell at them or something. “Andy didn't mean it in a bad way, you know,” Joe told him as he set the bottle of his beer down on the low table in front of them.

Pete shrugged and gave them both a grin. “I know, Joe. Don't you worry too much,” he answered, and he gently patted Andy's back so that the latter would know that he wasn't actually mad at him, albeit it got Pete a little off guard. “At least I've got Bronx though. He really helped me a lot.”

To Pete, his son, Bronx Mowgli Wentz, was one of the two positive things that he got from his failed marriage, the other being the lesson he learned out of it: _haste makes waste_. His dad was right, Pete then realized, because after all, as based from what happened to them, shotgun weddings usually never end up with a happy ever after. Pete knew that he probably should've followed what his dad had told him before, but he and Ashlee were too in love and caught up with the fact that there were going to have a baby.

And look where that so-called _“love”_ had gotten them now.

Maybe, Pete figured, he and Ashlee got married at the wrong time, maybe they had moved their relationship to the next step too soon without thinking of the consequences, maybe they rushed things up, or maybe they just really weren't meant to be together.

Joe was smiling, visibly starting to relax a bit since the tension in the room had lessened. “Yeah, that's really good, man,” he said with a nod of his head, and his voice brought Pete back to the present with a startled blink. Andy and Joe didn't seem to notice, fortunately.

“You do know that I'm trying my best not to make a _Take Over, Break's Over_ joke here, right?” Joe added after a moment's silence, laughing and looking as if he had just made _the greatest joke ever told_ , even after Andy had elbowed him on the rib.

Pete didn't get what Joe had meant right away until the guitarist started humming the intro of their 2007 single, _The Take Over, The Break's Over_. Pete began laughing as well, trying not to make such a big deal out of the lyrics from a song that they had written and released years ago.

“Stop being such a dick, Trohman,” Andy warned.

“ _'Wouldn't you rather be a widow, than a divorcee?'_ ” Joe started singing, purposely making it sound  slightly off-key in attempt to annoy both Pete and Andy. Andy scowled and placed a hand over Joe's face to shut him up, but Joe just continued singing and laughing and trying to push the drummer off him. Pete, on the other hand, was only laughing at the two of them.

“You really are a dick, Joe,” Pete shook his head in amusement, chuckling when Joe had elbowed Andy's nose _accidentally_ —or not. Pete had heard too many jokes already about how his divorce went, and even read some coming from magazines and newspapers and posts on the internet from different people. But after a while, the jokes had become boring already. Monotonous. Unoriginal.

Even with Joe using his own words back at him (he wasn't the first person who used that line on Pete anyway), the joke didn't sting as much as it did before. Joe only smiled goofily at him in response, not even slightly looking sorry for what he had done, while Andy looked at Pete anxiously, still clutching his nose.

“If this is your way of cheering me up after bringing up my divorce,” Pete pointed at Joe in mock-accusation. “then, Trohman, trust me if I say that you're doing a terrible job.” Joe threw his head back in laughter, only to be shushed when Andy had clamped a hand over his mouth.

“We're just glad that you've gotten past that already,” Andy told Pete sincerely, glaring at Joe when the latter had batted his hand off.

Pete gave Andy a small smile as he leaned back on the cushions of the sofa they were sitting on and crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank you, I'm glad that I've managed to get past through all that, too,” he replied, and Pete wanted to add, _I thought that I'd never get over her, actually,_ but he decided not to say it out loud, so he left it at that.

The band never really spoke much about the divorce, especially whenever Pete was around since they thought that he might throw a fit unexpectedly— _hell_ , they weren't even sure if they could even _at least_ mention Ashlee to Pete—and this was probably their first time to discuss about the subject... and actually make a joke about it.

They were quiet for a while after the guitarist had finally calmed down a little from his laughing fit, the three of them unsure of what else to say. Only the sound of Joe tapping his foot on the floor and the ticking of the wall clock filled the room.

“Ever thought of having kids?” Pete then inquired a minute later, finally breaking the ice. He looked pointedly at Joe when he had asked the question.

The Jewish man had only grinned at him before he and Andy had shared another look again, as if they were holding a secret, and it made Pete frown a little. He always hated being left out.

“If you got Marie knocked up without telling us—or me and Patrick, apparently, seeing that Andy knows about this—I'm demoting you as _the dude playing guitar in my band but not really a friend of mine_ even if I knew you way before I met Patrick,” Pete threatened. “And if you and Andy would share another fucking _look_ again, I'm going to kill both of you in your sleep, harvest all of your organs and make a fortune out of them.”

Andy snorted. “As if you can,” he challenged Pete with raised eyebrows.

Pete only rolled his eyes when Joe had laughed at him, but didn't push it any further. Andy wouldn't be dubbed as _The Animal_ for nothing (Pete had even called him that on his published book). He was certain that he—or _anyone_ in their band, for that matter—would never be able to defeat Andy in an actual fist fight, especially when he had started his newfound CrossFit lifestyle.

“You'll find out soon, dude,” Joe winked at Pete before playfully punching Pete's shoulder.

The bassist scowled, rubbing on the spot where Joe had punched him. “Based on that answer, you're basically admitting that your wife is pregnant,” Pete stated, knitting his eyebrows together.

He majored in Political Science when he was still in De Paul University after all, and with the kind of education he had and with his dad being a lawyer and with his mom being a guidance counselor, Pete was trained—no, since it seemed to be practically sewn in his DNA, he was _born_ to know whenever people tried not addressing a certain question being given to them or made discreet excuses so as not to answer the question, which was also a good thing because he could use this ability and turn the tables during interviews.

At least the things he learned in college hadn't gone to waste, Pete realized.

Joe still had that stupid, smug smile on his face, and Pete had to stop his urge to break the guitarist's nose for keeping secrets from him. They were supposed to be band mates _and_ best friends for a reason; they shouldn't be hiding stuff like these from each other. Pete even told the band that Ashlee was pregnant as soon as he found it out, and that was _before_ his own family knew about it. His band mates _should_ extend the same courtesy to him.

Before Joe could even open his mouth to say something witty in return, however, they were immediately silenced when someone started yelling from outside, and they all turned their heads to stare at the closed door of the dressing room. It was _definitely_ Patrick's voice they were hearing.

All the bantering suddenly forgotten, the three of them exhanged worried looks. Sure, they were aware about Patrick's short fuse and that he would usually scream during heated conversations until he felt better, and would sometimes even throw punches here and there. But in their more than a decade-long friendship, this was their first time hearing Patrick yelling at Elisa, _his wife_.

They couldn't hear clearly the things that Patrick was saying because of the wall separating them, and Patrick seemed to be trying to quieten his voice slightly, but was failing... miserably.

All Pete could make out from what Patrick was yammering were the phrases _I thought you fucking understand what I'm doing_ and _you know how tiring touring can be_ and _I'm also working my ass off right here_ before hearing a muffled crash. Patrick had most likely thrown his phone to the wall or something, Pete thought.

It was silent for a few long seconds—Pete fixated his eyes on the door, Andy exhaled but remained silent, and Joe half-whispered a surprised _“oh, wow”_ —before the doorknob of the dressing room turned. They tried to act as if nothing happened and as if they didn't hear anything a few moments ago, except for Pete, who just watched as Patrick pushed the door open and stepped back inside.

Patrick's shoulders were slumped, his hazel eyes behind his glasses red-rimmed, and he looked... defeated. Tired. Frustrated. His fists were clenched tightly on his sides, and Pete wondered if his nails were digging on his palms painfully. He then realized that their soundcheck that day would surely be awkward and tension-filled.

So much for the show later that night.

Letting out a deep sigh, the first sound Patrick made upon entering the room, he took his glasses off and wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand before putting his glasses back on. Pete noticed that Andy and Joe were also watching Patrick now, their expressions sad and concerned, as Patrick headed over to the corner to grab his electric guitar.

“So, uh,” Joe began awkwardly, clearing his throat. Pete saw Andy shoot Joe a panicky stare, as if saying, _'Don't you dare fuck this up.'_   Joe didn't seem to notice though, as he went on talking. “I'm guessing that there'll be no changes on the setlist tonight, then?”

Nodding, Patrick said quietly, “Come on, we still have soundcheck to do.” He slung the strap of his guitar over his torso, looking over at his band mates expectantly.

It was Andy's turn to clear his throat before he stood up. “Yeah, that's right,” he nodded as he headed for the door and dragged Joe along with him, just barely letting the Jewish man grab his own guitar from the rack before leaving the dressing room.

That meant that the two had left Pete and Patrick alone.

Pete didn't ask Patrick about what had just happened. He knew that it was Patrick's business anyway and he would be breaking boundaries for doing such a thing. Pete knew that Patrick would tell him all about it when the time was right, so instead, he just watched Patrick take in a deep breath before saying, “I think I might need a new phone.”

So Patrick _did_ smash his phone into bits.

With a nod of his head and a somewhat amused smile carved on his lips, Pete got up from the sofa and took his bass guitar off the rack before slinging an arm over Patrick's shoulders, pressing the vocalist closer to his side. “I'll go shopping with you tomorrow. I'll buy you ice cream,” Pete promised, and he was pleased with himself when Patrick had given him a thankful smile.


End file.
